Rôti Filler
by justrumbelledearie
Summary: Continuation of the classroom scene in Rôti. (Willana)


"What do you think will happen if Gideon finds the Chesapeake Ripper?"

"The Chesapeake Ripper will kill him." To Will, it was painfully obvious. "He took credit for his work. The ripper would consider that…rude."

The prediction fell heavily between them, and they stood silently for a few beats, shoulder to shoulder, each looking out at the empty lecture hall.

Alana glanced to her left, her thoughts returning to Will. How weary he sounded. How defeated. She thought of the heat under her palm as she had held it to his cheek. She took note of the pallor of his skin, the purple bruises beneath his eyes.

A thought came to her, unbidden. Will pleading, "I am _not_ your patient."

Nevertheless, she pushed herself off the desk and turned to face him. Alana's tone was gentle: "Will, I've never seen you look so exhausted."

His eyes met hers, then quickly darted away. "How long have you been looking?" It was an attempt to match her earlier playfulness, about his space heater and his dogs, but the question betrayed an anxious neediness that embarrassed him.

"You were lecturing on dissociative identity disorder. It was my first week as a guest lecturer, and it was suggested I sit in. You were wearing the same shirt you have on now. And your beard was fuller." Alana paused until he lifted his eyes to hers. "I've been looking a long time," she said softly. And then pressed on before he could respond: "How is your sleep?"

Will's laugh was humorless, pained. Alana waited for more, but no words followed. She could feel his thoughts skitter elsewhere, somewhere inward. She took in his damp forehead, his hand fidgeting with the Asperin bottle in his pocket.

"How about some food?" Her smile was kind.

"With you?" Will's attention snapped back to this room, to her. "That sounds a little like a date."

"Just two friends, sharing beers and dinner by a space heater." Her smile deepened, but her eyes were earnest. "Do something for me, Will. Go home, lay down, and rest. I'll pick up some things, talk with the security detail, and I'll be right behind you." He said nothing, watching her from under hooded eyes, so Alana stepped closer, took his arm and gently tugged his hand from his pocket. She squeezed it between both of hers. "I'll be right behind you." His eyes were on their hands. At last, he nodded.

The drive from Quantico to his home was a long one, and by the time Will arrived in Wolf Trap, the sun was dipping below the horizon. His breath was visible in the cold winter air, and it encircled his head as he slowly climbed the porch steps, a hand on the railing to steady himself. The dogs peered expectantly out the windows, then gratefully received his affection at the front door before sprinting into the yard.

When the last of them returned, he shut his door, flicked on a solitary lamp, and sank down onto his couch. Will's head ached. He lay down on his side, searching for a more comfortable position. Alana would be here soon. Bringing dinner and something to drink. Maybe she would touch him again, the way she had before, her hands on his back or his face or his hand. "I've been looking a long time."

He would rest but with what he saw behind closed eyes, there could be no sleep for him.

These were Will Graham's last thoughts before drifting off.

Headlights appeared in Will's driveway a short while later, and Alana walked briskly from her car to the front door, carrying a bag of groceries in one hand, and a six-pack of beer in the other. After peering through a window, she stepped inside, removing her heels. Several dogs came over for a cursory sniff, then quickly settled back into their beds.

Her eyes took in his bed, unmade, in the corner of the room. A recent addition. Leaving her coat and groceries on the kitchen table, she walked silently to the front of the couch. Her eyes were drawn to the hole in the fireplace wall—the bricks were still scattered where he had left them the night before—but then she turned and knelt, taking in the sight of him. His face, so dear to her, was relaxed in sleep. On impulse, she leaned forward and breathed in the scent of him. A shudder ran through Will. Not wanting to rouse him, Alana leaned back and flicked on the space heater, then walked quietly to his kitchen and began to prepare a meal.

"If he sleeps the night through," she thought, peering into an empty refrigerator, "At least he'll have something to eat tomorrow." She shuffled through kitchen drawers—most were filled with hardware and fishing lures—until she found a bottle opener and cracked open a beer.

_In his dream, he's back on the beach, and he knows without looking that the monstrous totem is behind him. He also knows without looking that many sets of eyes have begun to open, and many arms have begun to wave and reach. He cannot turn around and face it, though, because in front of him, standing close enough to touch, is Garrett Jacob Hobbs. His eyes are black. The sound of rushing water fills Will's ears, and he feels icy water swirl around his ankles. The totem begins to sway._

As she slides the Manicotti into the oven, Alana hears a sharp intake of breath, then watches as Will's sleeping form begins to shake. She's at his side with a blanket from the bed when he begins to grasp at the cushions, and his breathing becomes jagged.

_Hobbs takes a step closer and Will takes a step back, breathing hard. Hobbs reaches out a hand, and Will shrinks away, only to find his wrist encircled by another grasping hand, one from the totem. He feels a scream perched under his chin, desperate to get out. The ice water is rising._

The nightmare seems to be increasing in intensity, and Alana silently curses Jack Crawford, and Hannibal as well. He's gotten much, much too close. She sits beside him and takes one of his hands in hers, brushing back his damp curls from his forehead with the other. "Will." Willing him to wake up.

_He's trapped, drowning, and he can't hold the scream back any longer. He squeezes his eyes shut so he won't have to see Hobbs' face._

"Will!" His eyes fly open, and his head moves frantically back and forth on the cushion, trying to orient himself. His breath is rapid and shallow and the sweat pours off him."You're OK. You're OK. It was only a nightmare. Will. Will." He feels his head supported, lifted, and gathered to Alana's shoulder. He clutches at her, trying and failing to find his balance and slow his breathing.

Gradually, the slow circles her hand is making up and down his back begin to register. He feels her fingers moving through the the hair on the base of his neck and feels her mouth moving against his temple, whispering something low and reassuring. He is ashamed that she has seen him this way, and he is even more ashamed that he needs her steady fingers to remove his sweat-soaked shirts because his hands are shaking too hard to undo the buttons and his arms are too weak to lift them over his head. Alana wraps him in a blanket.

"How often do you have night terrors?" she asks, drawing him close again. Safe against her neck, hidden by her dark curls, Will simply shuts his eyes.

"You're safe," Alana promises. "I'll keep you safe."


End file.
